


The Host

by haggarrrd



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alien Invasion, Alien Technology, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jehan is an alien that occupies Grantaire's body without his permission oooh, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:59:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haggarrrd/pseuds/haggarrrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Souls took control of the Earth in 2032, and just like any alien occupation, it happened gradually, until one by one the Souls outnumbered the humans. Now there are few humans left, and those who managed to survive lived a life on the run, or feared being invaded too. The Earth was no longer the Earth as it was once known; to the Souls, it was improved to a state of perfection. Where there was once hunger, disease and violence, there was now peace. It was perfect; honesty, courtesy and kindness were widespread, for the souls had no need for the unpleasant traits known to humans.</p><p>Not all agreed, of course, that the world was perfect. The humans who had managed to survive the initial take over made sure to do their best to remain hidden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Invasion

The Souls took control of the Earth in 2032, and just like any alien occupation, it happened gradually, until one by one the Souls outnumbered the humans. Now there are few humans left, and those who managed to survive lived a life on the run, or feared being invaded too. The Earth was no longer the Earth as it was once known; to the Souls, it was improved to a state of perfection. Where there was once hunger, disease and violence, there was now peace. It was perfect; honesty, courtesy and kindness were widespread, for the souls had no need for the unpleasant traits known to humans.

Not all agreed, of course, that the world was perfect. The humans who had managed to survive the initial take over made sure to do their best to remain hidden.

Take, for example, a young man hidden in an abandoned hotel. His dark curls stuck to his head, sweat slicking his skin as he panted but tried his hardest to remain silent. The Seekers (those who were responsible for finding the rouge humans and bringing them to the Healers Centre so that they could be implanted with a soul) could be anywhere, and when they found him, he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to escape. He clenched his bright blue eyes shut; it wasn’t safe for him to stay in one place for too long. If he hesitated, they could be getting closer. Every second he wasted standing there trying to regain his breath brought the Seekers a step closer.

He took a deep breath, pushed off of the wall and turned around the corner he had been hidden behind. Of course, that was his downfall, because he hadn’t checked to make sure that danger wasn’t hiding around the corner. He stopped instantly, his breath catching in his throat, and saw himself surrounded by six Seekers; they all stood on alert as if they were ready to pounce, and the dark haired boy stood frozen like a deer in headlights. His mind flashed back to all that he was losing, the blond that was waiting for him and was probably worried about him. The blond that he’d never see again. He wanted to scream at the thought, wanted to lash out at the Seekers that surrounded him until they were out of his way and he was once again free.

“Be calm, we’re not here to hurt you.” The man’s head snapped in the direction of the voice; it was calm and honest, and if he didn’t know better he would have trusted it on instinct. But he did know better, and he knew the malice that the Seekers brought with them; he wasn’t so naïve anymore. It was easy to see how so many humans had fallen prey to the Seekers, but he wouldn’t be another one of them. He looked at the woman, with her high blonde ponytail and glimmering silver eyes, and he wanted to be as far from her as he possibly could be. She brought about his demise, and he loathed her for that.

“Please, come with us.” Another spoke, and he turned to face that one, swinging his flashlight out in defence as he did so.

He lashed out with then light and smashed it against one of the Seeker’s face, causing the stricken man to fall to the ground in a state of unconsciousness; he heard the other five gasp in surprise and he took the opportunity to strike out at other. He yelled towards them, “Like hell am I going with you!”

He pushed past the two injured Seekers and sprinted towards the stairwell, no time to hesitate; the blonde Seeker was close on his trail, unfazed by his act of violence, but he was faster than she was, taken by surprise as she was; it was rare for a human to outsmart a Seeker, or to put up as much fight as he was doing. He could hear her shoes smacking against the tiled floor as she cried out to him to stop, but he only picked up his pace in return. He wasn’t prepared to let her catch him; he loved his humanity too much to allow her that, and loved all of the things that came along with it. He ran up the stairs and down a corridor; he twisted around the corner, but there was nothing there. There were no doors or corridors, only a window at the far end. He knew that he must have been at least six stories up from the ground, but at this point even death seemed like a better option that being turned into one of them.

He ran towards the window as fast as he could, then threw all of his weight onto it. He smashed through the glass, screaming out as the shards tore at his skin, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact, and then he was free; the wind was tearing through his inky curls, and he closed his eyes as the air whistled past his ears. He smiled as he collided with the ground; death was better than become another victim to the Souls that had invaded his planet.

“No!” The blonde Seeker screamed out as she saw the man’s body disappear through the window; Souls could survive the fall, but humans were not made for such damage. The man would have died on impact, or very soon after, she knew that, but as she raced back down the stairs, the other Seekers following in her trail, she knew that there would be something that they could do to save him, if only he had even a slither of life clinging on. Their medicines were far superior to the ones that the humans had known, and their Healers were far better than what the humans knew to be doctors. They could save him, if only time was on their side.

She stood over the man, taking in his torn up face and unmoving chest, and feared that she was too late. She sighed and shook her head; the loss of a life that had so much potential was devastating to her, but then she saw the man’s finger’s twitch and she knew that wasn’t quite a failure yet.

+++

“Not a bone left unbroken, nor an organ not ruptured. I can’t understand why he is not dead, nor can I being to explain it to you,” The Healer cocked his head as he smiled down at the dark haired man, who was now free of the cuts and bruises he had gained when he fell, and had been cured of all broken bones. His pale skin held no mark of the accident he had been in only mere hours before. The Healer looked up at the Seeker, his silver eyes the same shade as hers, and said, “this one wants to live.”

She nodded curtly, a tight smile on her lips as she lightly gripped the silver canister in her hands. She handed it over to the Healer and prepared to watch a miracle as the man she thought had been deceased was inserted with a Soul of his own.

The Healer took a tool from the table beside the bed that the unconscious man was laid upon, and with one hand turned the man’s head to the side. He trailed the tool along the back of the man’s neck, creating an incision 5 centimetres long; the advancement of their medicines and their technology meant that there was no blood shed, and no scar would remain after the procedure. He gently placed the scalpel back down onto the table, and turned to the capsule he’d been presented with; the capsule in which a Soul was residing. A touch, and then the capsule was opened and he was lifting the glimmering silver soul out into his palm. He held the Soul in his hand for moment, stricken for a moment by the beauty of it, then held it to the cut on the back of the man’s neck; the Soul twisted and turned towards the small wound, and began to disappear into it on instinct. It would know what to do from there on with little guidance from the Healer.

The Soul attached to the man’s brain, and brought him back to consciousness. His once sea blue eyes opened, now silver, as all invaded bodies were. He stared up at the ceiling for a moment, until the Healer stole his attention by saying, “Welcome to Earth. I am Healer Warren, what shall I call you? You have been a great adventurer in your past lives, of which you have lived many. A name from one of those lives must have stuck with you after all this time.”

A moment’s hesitation, as if the Soul was figuring out how to command it’s new body how to speak, and then, “Call me… Jehan.”

The Healer smiled down at the Soul, and opened his mouth to say something in return but was interrupted by the blonde Seeker, who had been standing over in watch, “When will he be ready to work?”

“Not yet.” Healer Warren silenced the Seeker with a warning glance, angry at the thought of putting the Soul to work in exposing the hidden humans so soon after insertion.

“Of course, Healer.” She smiled and nodded, disappointment layered on her face.

++++

The new body was strange indeed to Jehan, who had lived many lives on many different planets; there was nothing quite like Earth, he had resolved, and there was nothing quite like the human body. It was far more complex than any of the other bodies he had inhabited, and their minds were far more complex than anything he had ever come across.

He observed the body that he was in, as he had found himself doing so often since he had woken up in the Healing Centre. He pushed himself up out of bed and padded over to the mirror so that he could look at his face also; the body, he had figured a few days ago, did not suit him all too much. He wasn’t sure why; possibly because he knew that the body had once belonged to another, had once held another personality that was now dormant. He supposed that he would grow accustomed to the body in due time.

His new body was short, roughly 5”8 if he was judging correctly, and impeccably slender in comparison to all of the other men he had come into contact with. The body he was in had a more feminine undertone, and he supposed that his figure did look a little more feminine than it did masculine. Not that Jehan minded at all. He ran a hand through the shock of dark curls that laid upon his head, and wondered if the past owner had done anything to try and tame them. He resolved that he wouldn’t, for he loved the way that they stuck out and seemed to have a life of their own.

Jehan gasped aloud as a voice in head screamed.

 _No! No, I didn’t die! Why didn’t I die!_ The voice shrieked, and it took Jehan a moment to realise that it was the voice of the man who had owned the body before he had. The man’s voice, while similar to the one he spoke in, was underlined with a strange accent that he couldn’t place. His thoughts about the man’s accent were interrupted when the voice hissed,  _That’s right, I’m still here. Don’t think this body is yours. This body is mine, you hear me? Mine._

“No. Mine.” Jehan said aloud to his reflection in a polite voice. This body belonged to him now, no matter what the voice in his head said.

++++

Jehan was put to work a few weeks after his insertion, once he had been able to come to grips with his new body and the memories it harboured. His ‘work’ as it was called, was to reveal all that his body’s memory had retained about the hidden humanity movement so that the Seekers could go and retrieve the other hidden humans. The voice in his head screamed at him when he found out what he was going to do, but there was nothing that the voice could do to stop him from fulfilling his duty.

 _What did you think? Did you think that I’d just give up and give you my body and my memories?_ The voice hissed at him. Jehan ignored him.

Jehan sat at a table across from the blond Seeker that had been there at his insertion; the same Seeker that had chased his body through a hotel and out of a window to his demise, although Jehan did not know that was how Grantaire had been captured yet. A few humans, the Seeker told him, fought their hosts and refused to fade away, as most humans did when a Soul attached itself to their brains. His human was clinging on, although he did not tell the Seeker that.

“His name is Zacharie Grantaire, although he insisted that his friends called him Grantaire rather than Zacharie. He is twenty one years old, and he was born in Toulon but moved to Paris in his infancy.” Memories flashed through his mind; Grantaire in the streets of Paris, smiling warmly as he sketched in a notepad. “He was not with his family when we first came to Earth, but he escaped by hiding in a deserted location that our Seekers had not yet discovered. It was only a matter of time until they stumbled across him, but he was faster and managed to escape them. He’s been on the run ever since.”

 _I hate you._ Grantaire growled in his head. _I wish that I could hurt you._

Jehan was excused for the day, and as he began to walk back to the home he had been given, he attempted to soothe Grantaire, as he sometimes did when it was just the two of them, “I understand why you are so upset. You believe that the loss of your will is too great of a sacrifice but we are thinking of the common good.”

_You keep calling it that. This is murder and you know it._

Jehan decided to ignore Grantaire for the rest of the day following that, although he refused to admit that it was because Grantaire had managed to hurt his feelings by calling him a murderer. Grantaire, in return, stayed silent for the rest of the day and ignored him in the same way.

That night Jehan dreamed about Grantaire’s life, although he felt as though he had been thrust right into the situation rather than merely remembering it. In his dream he was tense, scared and in a rush; he’d broken into some Soul’s house, and was stealing food from their refrigerator. He was shovelling the food into his backpack as fast as he could, not bothering to check on just what he was taking. He didn’t have time for that. A hand grabbed his shoulder, and every survival instinct that Grantaire had was telling him not to scream, not even as the cold metal of a blade was pressed against his throat.

“One move and you die,” a harsh voice hissed, and Grantaire assumed that he’d been caught by the owners of the house, even though he’d watched the couple for days and was sure that they’d gone out of town.

Grantaire didn’t resist, but hissed in return, “Kill me then. I’d rather die than become like you.”

The metal was removed from Grantaire’s throat, and the hand that had been on his shoulder turned him around and pinned his against the now closed door of the fridge. The man, who had beautiful blond curls that fell just past his shoulders, held up a flashlight and shined it in his eyes; no doubt checking for the silver that came along with a soul. “You’re human?”

Before Grantaire could respond, the blond lunged forward and pressed their lips together. Grantaire, in fear, pushed him away and lashed out with his fist, catching the blond on the chin and causing him to stumble backwards slightly. The dark haired man seized his opportunity and ran past his attacker, ignoring the man’s calls for him to come back. Grantaire refused, of course he did because Grantaire was stubborn—Jehan knew that much already—and fear was driving him to run as fast as he could. The man was running after him, still yelling at him to stop and come back, and the next thing he knew Grantaire was being tackled to the ground.

He was panicking at that, Jehan could feel his fear as if it was his own, as he was pinned down by the beautiful blond that was probably going to turn him over to the Seekers at the soonest possibility. The man held the flashlight up to his own eyes, and Grantaire gasped when he saw dark brown rather than silver, “I’m human too, calm down!”

“Get off.” Grantaire grunted, and the man shuffled off of him and stood up, outstretching his hand to the man still on the ground to help him up. Jehan’s host accepted the hand and brushed the leaves off of his jacket as the blond apologised profusely.

“You have to understand,” The blond blushed and looked down at his feet, then looked back up to Grantaire quickly as if he were scared he would disappear. “I haven’t seen another human being for over a year. My name’s Thierry Enjolras, but please just call me Enjolras.”

“Grantaire. I… I have to go, someone’s waiting for me.”

This caught Enjolras’ interest, and Jehan’s too. “You’re not alone?”

“I’m travelling with a few other. Bahorel and Feuilly.” Grantaire hoisted his bag of food up onto his shoulder, surprised that he had managed to hold onto it even as he tried to escape. “They’re waiting for me, and they’re hungry. It’s my turn to get food, but it’s going to take me hours to run back there now, so I really have to go…”

“Let me come with you,” Enjolras said quickly, grabbing onto Grantaire’s arm. His dark brown eyes were wide and urgent, and Grantaire couldn’t deny them at all. “I have a Jeep, I can drive you back and it’ll be much quicker than if you ran. Please, just… I’m sick of hiding alone.”

 _Those are not your memories to steal!_ Grantaire yelled as Jehan awoke with a start and sat up straight in bed. He couldn’t get over the dream; he could still feel the tingle of Enjolras’ lips against his own (or Grantaire’s, as he would be corrected), could still feel his heart racing within his chest. He could feel the happiness that Grantaire had felt when Enjolras had asked to come with him. Jehan shoved the feelings aside and climbed out of bed, grabbing his notepad as he did. He jotted down the details of the dream, making note of the three names he had learnt; although he assumed that Bahorel and Feuilly were last names or nicknames, as Grantaire and Enjolras seemed to prefer to be known that way. Maybe it was a human thing.

_Why are you pretending that you didn’t feel anything just then? Why are you still working for them when you felt that? Stop it! Stop it, Jehan! **STOP!**_

The pen flew from Jehan’s hand as Grantaire yelled, and the Soul hadn’t even realised that he had condoned the action until he heard the plastic clash against the wall and then fall to the floor. He looked at his hand; he hadn’t done that, Grantaire had. But how?

++++

Jehan didn’t mention the incident where Grantaire had regained control of his body for a moment to the Seeker the next morning when he reported to her with the notebook that contained the happenings of his dream.

 _You shouldn’t be doing this._ Grantaire told him, but Jehan knew that he had no other choice. He was a Soul, he was supposed to act in the best interests of the greater good, and turning in the hidden humans was in the best interest of the Soul community. _This is wrong and you know it._

“After meeting Enjolras, Grantaire took him back to meet Bahorel and Feuilly.” Jehan’s voice drowned out Grantaire’s, as his mind was once again swept up by the memories in Grantaire’s mind.

Bahorel and Feuilly were waiting for him when he and Enjolras returned with the food; Bahorel was the taller of the two, muscly yet tender looking. He was clearly put on edge when Enjolras walked around the front of the Jeep to meet Grantaire, but Feuilly seemed more welcoming. He was slender, not quite as much as Grantaire was, and had ginger hair and freckles that suggested that he hadn’t been born in Paris as the other’s had. Grantaire informed him, willingly or not, that Feuilly was an orphan from Poland. They were apprehensive of Enjolras at first, but when they saw how fond of him Grantaire had become in such a short time, they stayed with him. The four stuck together from then on, Jehan wasn’t sure if it was because of safety in numbers or the urge for comradeship.

They lived far away from the areas that had been discovered by Seekers, and it was easy for the four of them to forget about the issues they were running from. It was just the four of them, in their own little world, only ever having to venture out of it to go and find food (although with the help of Enjolras’ Jeep, they had to do it less and less, as they could get more.)

Grantaire found himself in love with Enjolras very soon after meeting him. They spent more time with each other than they did with Bahorel and Feuilly, who tended to stick together.

“You haven’t kissed me again since that night,” Grantaire mumbled as he leaned against Enjolras’ shoulder, watching the fire that Bahorel had spent the best part of an hour building. He smirked up at Enjolras, who was still staring at the fire with those wide, chocolate brown eyes that Grantaire adored.

Enjolras turned towards him, and reached up to cup Grantaire’s face in his palm, “You don’t have to. We could be the last humans on the Earth, the four of us here, and you still wouldn’t have to if you didn’t want to.”

Enjolras dropped his hand, so Grantaire leaned in a little further and in a soft voice said, “I want to. I do. When you… when you touch me, I forget about everything else. I don’t want you to ever stop. So yeah, I want you to.”

Enjolras smiled gently and replaced his hand on Grantaire’s cheek. Slowly, he leaned in to meet Grantaire halfway, and connected their lips. He moved his hand from Grantaire’s cheek to grip his dark curls, and Grantaire reached up to grip Enjolras’ arm, making sure that it stayed in place as he dropped his jaw to grant Enjolras entrance. They pulled apart for a moment and Grantaire whispered, “sleep with me tonight,” before Enjolras crashed their lips together again and Grantaire gripped the back of the blonde’s neck to keep him in place.

Jehan was pulled out of the memory by the sound of the Seeker shouting his name. She looked at him with impatience written all over her face, but he refused to say anything. Something about the moment he had just witnessed seemed too private for him to reveal to her; it would do nothing to help her in her pursuit to know that Grantaire and Enjolras had been lovers, so he wouldn’t tell her. He doubted very much that she would understand anyway, as harsh and severe as she was. He would tell her what she needed to know and nothing else.

“Enjolras spotted Seekers near their hideout and while they weren’t found, they knew that they had to move on.” Jehan nodded, a dark curl falling in his eye. “They were headed… I don’t know where, I don’t think he knew either. It was somewhere safe, there were others, I think but I don’t know who. They spent the night at an abandoned hotel, Enjolras and Bahorel were out looking for food and keeping guard when Seekers turned up. Grantaire told Feuilly to hide, he was strangely protective over the man, and Grantaire led the Seekers away. I believe that when you found him, and he… he jumped out of the window. That’s all there is. He didn’t know any more.”

“There has to be more!” the Seeker yelled, slamming her palms down on the table.

“I will keep trying,” Jehan promised, nodding his head as he did. The Seeker nodded in reply and walked out of the room, leaving Jehan alone to Grantaire’s thoughts. An image flashed into his mind; a landscape somewhere in the desert, made up of tall mountains and nothing but sand. Jehan grabbed his notebook and a pencil, then began scribbling the outline of the landscape that was imprinting on his mind.

 _No! No please don’t! Stop! I didn’t mean to let you see that!_ Grantaire’s voice flooded through his mind, panicked and frantic. _You can’t know that! If you show that to the Seekers they will die! Get rid of it please, please, Jehan._

Jehan gasped and dropped his pencil; he might have been interested in the greater good, but that did not mean he wanted to sacrifice innocent humans. Through Grantaire and their shared emotions, he had become quite fond of the three men that Grantaire had known; he wanted to protect them—not as much as Grantaire himself wanted to protect them, he’d be the first to admit that, but he still didn’t want them to die. He tore the piece of paper from the notepad and ripped it up, shoving the little pieces of paper into his pocket.

++++

As the weeks passed after that, Jehan had nothing new to report back to the Seekers. He was becoming strangely attached to Grantaire, and found that what the voice in his head wanted was becoming what he wanted too. He couldn’t betray Grantaire like that when he was becoming so fond of the man. Jehan took solace out by the water, and spent most of his days there; of course, the Seeker found him there before long.

 _Big surprise there._ Grantaire said sarcastically as the Seeker approached them; Jehan found that he was becoming accustomed to Grantaire’s cynicism and dry sense of humour.

“What are you doing here?” The Seeker asked as she settled by his side, looking out at the water; Jehan could almost hear Grantaire’s sneer at the innocent tone to her voice.

Jehan looked at her and smiled politely, although he had come to dislike her deeply over the course of the past week, “I thought that maybe a change of scenery would help me remember.”

“It’s been weeks since you last brought us new information.” The Seeker got straight to the point, and Jehan just stared straight ahead. He didn’t exactly have any new information for them that would help, other than the outline, but even if he did, he wasn’t prepared to give it up to the Seekers. “Do you know where they are or not?”

_Say no or say nothing at all. I trust you not to say anything, Jehan. Don’t betray me._

Jehan did as he was told, and turned and walked a little further up the lake. The Seeker followed him and sighed deeply, clearly irritated at Jehan’s incompetence, “I do have some news for you, actually. Your identification of Thierry Enjolras came back positive. I’m certain that we will find him.”

**_No!_ **

“No!” Jehan yelled, although the voice was Grantaire’s, not his own. He reached out to attack the Seeker, but the action was not his own; he held no control over his actions, but the Seeker grabbed his arm and twisted so that he was pinned against a nearby tree, then sprayed a Calm spray in his face that caused him to lose consciousness and fall to the ground.

+++

“I’m so sorry.” Jehan apologised later that evening, as the Seeker sat across from him in his bedroom. He did, in total honesty, feel a little ashamed of himself, although he knew that it was Grantaire’s anger that had acted more than he himself; Souls were not known for acts of violence. They did not attack one and other. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“Perhaps because it was not you that was acting,” a new Seeker said, stood beside the blond haired Seeker. This one was a man, his well-groomed hair gelled back. “We’ve put you through enough, your Host is far too resistant. You will be implanted into a more reasonable Host, and another will take up your role.”

 _ **Her?!**_ Grantaire yelled, speaking for the first time since the incident that afternoon. _You can’t let her do that, Jehan! She won’t care about them like you do, she will kill them._

“Who?” Jehan asked.

“Me,” The blond haired Seeker stood up and smiled proudly. “I will be able to get the information we require, and my body can be held for me until I am done.”

In a quiet voice, Jehan asked, “then what will happen to Grant—Zacharie Grantaire…”

“He will be given the death he so clearly desired.” _Don’t you let her!_ “Don’t feel bad, you’re not the only Soul incapable to handle an unwilling Host. We will make the transfer tomorrow, but for tonight you must rest. Goodnight, Jehan.”

And then Jehan was left alone, a guard outside the front door of his apartment to make sure that he couldn’t escape. He began pacing back and forth when Grantaire whispered _Looks like we’re gonna have to escape._


	2. One Of Our Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “This hasn’t happened before. One of our own coming back. For right now, I’m doing nothing about it because I don't know what to do.” Said Bahorel, a look of longing on his face as his pale blue eyes met Jehan’s silver.

Grantaire was crazy if he thought that Jehan was going to help him escape. He had a duty to fulfil with the Seekers and no amount of pleading, threatening or blackmail on Grantaire’s half was going to change that fact. Jehan tried to ignore his Host, but it was proving to be too difficult since the voice was in his head and he couldn’t shut him up no matter what he tried.

_Please, Jehan. They’ll die. My family. Enjolras, Bahorel, Feuilly. Please don’t do that to them._ Grantaire begged, his voice high pitched and whiney. _You have to do what’s right and that’s getting out of here. We need to get out of here._

“We?” Jehan asked, a little thrilled. Grantaire had never acknowledged the fact that they were a bonded unity before. The acknowledgement made him a little more willing to go along with whatever Grantaire wanted, although he wasn’t entirely sure why. He felt as though he had to look out for Grantaire’s best interests as well as his own, and letting the Seeker take charge of his brain certainly wouldn’t be in Grantaire’s best interests. "Okay. We’ll leave. Just tell me what to do.”

_Put that chair in front of the door._ Grantaire commanded, and Jehan obliged. The voice in his head laughed slightly when he did and said, _No, the other way. So the back of the chair is under the door handle._

“Oh,” A slight blush covered Jehan’s cheeks as he fixed his mistake. He looked down at the chair but didn’t understand how it was supposed to help them get out of the room. “I don’t understand. How is that supposed to help? Now we’re locked in here, there’s no other way out. They’ll still perform the insertion in the morning.”

_Yes there is! Out there._

An image of the sliding doors that led out onto his balcony flashed into his mind, and before he could even consent it, his body turned towards the aforementioned door. He could see his reflection in the glass, his face was painted half with fear and half with confidence; the terrified half clearly belonged to him, while Grantaire was leaking out and providing him with confidence.

_Come on, Jehan. Let’s go. Move._

He looked down at his feet, which started to move forwards when Grantaire commanded them to. It was clear who was in charge, although Jehan wasn’t entirely sure just how Grantaire was doing it. He slid the door open when Grantaire told him to, and stepped out into the warm nights air without even needing the prompt. Grantaire praised him and encouraged him as he went, and he wondered just when the other man had become so kind towards him; not even a month ago Grantaire had loathed him and Jehan had wished him out of his head. He walked across the balcony towards the railing, then peeked over; his stomach flipped at the three story drop beneath him, and he was about to turn around and tell Grantaire that he was going to have to come up with another plan if he wanted out, because there was no way that they were going to jump.

_It’s not that high,_ Grantaire reasoned. _This is nothing, and there’s a pool so we won’t get hurt at all. We’ll just fall in the water. Just climb up._ Jehan did as he was told, and sat with his feet dangling off of the edge of the balcony. _Now jump._

“I can’t! Are you crazy?” Jehan yelled and gripped onto the wall he was sat on tightly. Grantaire’s smug voice filled his mind, _It’s a good thing that I can then._ And just like that, Jehan was falling through the air towards the water below. He screamed, unable to hold it in, and then he was crashing into the water, gulping it in accidentally so that when he finally emerged above the water, he coughed and spluttered. He swam to the ledge and climbed out, his heart still pounding within his chest. He made a mental note to yell at Grantaire later for making him do that.

_Forget about yelling at me and run! They probably heard you scream, they’re gonna be in your room in minutes!_

Jehan didn’t need to be told twice; he turned away from the pool and began running towards the road; in his mind Grantaire was coming up with plans to steal a car, but he knew that they needn't do that. He stepped out in front of an oncoming vehicle, waving his hands above his head to get it to stop; when it did, the old man behind the wheel watching him curiously, Jehan walked around the side and leaned into the open window, “May I borrow your vehicle? Please, it is very important.”

The man smiled and stepped out of the car willingly, “Certainly. Can I be of any assistance?”

“No, thank you.” Jehan smiled sweetly as he stepped into the car and shut the door behind himself. He didn’t know how to drive, but Grantaire obviously did, so he trusted him to provide appropriate guidance so that they didn’t end up wrapped around a tree like a pretzel. Jehan shoved his foot down on the acceleration and gasped as the vehicle jumped to life; Grantaire shouted instructions at him, but Jehan found the skill easy enough to pick up because Grantaire’s memories told him how to drive on instinct.

_That was a neat little trick_ , Grantaire commented once they were safely on the road, and Jehan had released his death grip on the wheel. _How’d you do it?_

“That was no trick,” Jehan scoffed as he checked the mirrors. “We are honest with each other, we trust each other. When I said it was important that I borrowed his car, he believed me and allowed me to use it. When we are done with it I will return it.”

Grantaire scoffed at him but remained silent (a first for Grantaire, who seemed to have something to say about everything). Grantaire treated him on their journey by allowing him to see more of his memories—the happier ones, ones that revolved around Enjolras, Feuilly and Bahorel. The three of them had been almost forbidden between them, Jehan only managing to catch glimpses when Grantaire slipped up and let his guard down for a moment. Jehan knew very little about the men; he knew that Grantaire was hopelessly in love with Enjolras, and ached to be reunited with him. He knew that Feuilly was like Grantaire’s brother, and his Host was violently protective over him if he needed to be. Bahorel was his best friend, a man with whom Grantaire had shared many jokes that Jehan didn’t quite understand.

They used to dance out in their front yard, if that was what it could be called, even when it rained because it was often warm enough for it to be pleasant. Grantaire always began dancing with Feuilly, and he’d laugh and throw his head backwards as they swung each other around and sang along to whatever song it was that they were dancing along to. Enjolras would stroll over in his own time, and Grantaire would dance with both of them at the same time until Bahorel joined them, and Feuilly would allow himself to be swung around by the muscular man while Grantaire clung to his lover and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. Jehan could feel Grantaire’s pain when he remembered their dancing, and his Host refused to talk to him for a little while afterwards.

“Where are we going?” Jehan asked quietly after the initial wave of sadness had muted a little, and he suspected that Grantaire would be willing to talk to him again.

_To find my family._ Grantaire replied shortly, and Jehan figured maybe he didn’t want to talk just yet. _Stop the car. Get out._

Jehan did as he was told, as he often did when it came to Grantaire these days. He stepped out into the warm day, stunned that there was a part of France that was so desolate and sandy. It did not look as if it fit in with the rest of the country, but then Jehan supposed that was what made it the perfect hiding place; there was nothing in sight at all. No one would even think to look.

“Where do we go now?” Grantaire didn’t explicitly talk to him, but rather supplied him with images that would direct him in the right way. Jehan sighed, grabbed a bottle of water that he had spotted on the back seat, and began following his mental cues; Grantaire hadn’t ignored him for quite a while, and the last time he had Jehan had been so busy ignoring him that he hadn’t actually cared. But now he missed the running commentary that Grantaire provided in his mind, it was all too quiet while Grantaire was busy sulking. Grantaire’s sadness made him sad, because they shared the same emotions, and he would much rather distract the both of them with conversation but Grantaire was too busy missing Enjolras and yearning to be near him to talk. Jehan understood.

So he walked in silence, following the mental cues that Grantaire was giving him. He didn’t really know where they were going, and Grantaire refused to tell him, but they’d come too far for Jehan to decide not to trust Grantaire now. Besides, he did kind of hope that wherever they were going, it would lead to Enjolras, Bahorel and Feuilly, because he was quite attached to them and wanted to see them. After a couple of hours, it became harder to walk though, the water long since gone, and the sun beating down on the Soul’s shoulders horrifically. Grantaire was talking to him again, mainly because Jehan was starting to give up hope and only Grantaire’s encouraging words could get him to carry on walking. Thoughts of Enjolras pushed him forwards. Thoughts of Feuilly forced him to take another step. Thoughts of Bahorel caused him to ignore the red, burning skin of his shoulders and focus on the destination.

_Besides,_ Grantaire added. _You’ve walked too far to go back now._

Jehan agreed with him on that, but he also began to disagree with his Host on the matter of finding the hideaway they were searching for. Jehan couldn’t walk anymore, no matter how many encouraging thoughts Grantaire presented him with; he tried, but his legs were not his own, and they didn’t want to move any further. He collapsed to the ground, a little way away from a tree, the shadow of which was just barely casting over him. By this point even Grantaire seemed to accept the fact that they were doomed; Jehan was too dehydrated to move any further, and Grantaire couldn’t force him to. They were going to die out in the desert, and that was a fact they just had to face.

++++

Jehan awoke to the feeling of a hand on the back of his head, lifting it off of the ground slightly and gently, and to the sensation of water in his parched mouth. He didn’t yet open his eyes, too delirious and dehydrated to even consider it, not even when he heard whoever it was say Grantaire’s name over and over again. Instead he greedily lapped up the water that was being poured into his mouth.

“Come on, R, stay with me.” The person encouraged in a worried, desperate tone, and Jehan—now that he had a little fluid in his system—had no problem recognising the voice as Bahorel’s. In his head Grantaire was rejoicing over the fact that his friend was there and was alive, chanting, _Bahorel, Bahorel, Bahorel._

He twisted his head in the muscular man’s grasp and coughed a little, the reaction to the cool sensation of the water running down his rough throat, then said in a rough voice, “Bahorel. You found us.”

“Us?” Bahorel questioned as he poured a little more water in Jehan’s mouth, and the Soul accepted it greedily as he attempted to nod. When the water was taken away from him again, Jehan opened his eyes for the first time, and gained his first viewing of Bahorel; the man was just as muscular as he had been in Grantaire’s memories, and he still had the same flop of brown hair, only a little longer than Grantaire remembered. Jehan stared at him, and then Bahorel gasped and practically dropped his head back onto the ground. Jehan sat up and grabbed the water out of Bahorel’s hand and drained the rest of the canister without even thinking considering Bahorel’s reaction.

“Told you I spotted one.” Jehan’s head swivelled in the direction of the new voice—one neither he nor Grantaire recognised—and he spotted other humans walking towards him. None that he recognised; Feuilly and Enjolras were not with them, but Jehan tried to ignore the way that made Grantaire worry. One of them was still walking towards him, a machete in his hand and an angry look on his face, “why’d you give it water, Bahorel? What a waste.”

“On account of it was dying.” Bahorel spat back; the man turned his back on the Soul, and the man with the knife for a moment. Long enough for him to raise it up to shoulder level, as if he was going to swing it forwards and take a chunk out of Jehan’s neck. _Bahorel I’m in here!_ Grantaire wailed, suddenly realising that his plan hadn’t been so solid all along. Bahorel turned back around just in time to grab the other man’s arm, “Wait, Montparnasse.”

“Why?” The man—Montparnasse—looked horrified and confused all at the same time. “It’s one of them, isn’t it?”

“That it is,” Bahorel sighed and nodded, then ran a hand through his light brown hair and tugged slightly, as if the situation were incredibly stressful for him (though Jehan couldn’t imagine why, it’s not like _he_ had a machete pointed towards him.) Bahorel looked across the members of the group, and then back to Montparnasse, “but that’s also Grantaire, and he’s my best friend. And Enjolras’ boyfriend, I don’t think he’d take it too kindly if you beheaded him so rashly.”

In the back of his mind, Jehan could hear Grantaire rejoicing over the fact that Enjolras was there—Enjolras was alive. He’d made it, and that was all that mattered. Jehan, on the other hand, was a little more concerned with the machete, and the angry faces that were staring at him. One of the group stepped forwards, his copper curls shimmering in the sunlight, and flanked Montparnasse, “It was Grantaire. Was your best friend. Was Enjolras’ boyfriend. Not anymore, so step aside Bahorel and let’s not make this anymore painful that it has to be.”

“I’m just saying it’s complicated, Courfeyrac!” Bahorel snapped, fire burning in his eyes, and Grantaire wondered just where they had met all of these other humans. He wondered if there were many others. Jehan didn’t care; he wanted to be away from the humans and their weapons and return to society—he should have never let Grantaire convince him to come out here and look for them in the first place. Humans were savage and dangerous and he really should have known better.

A third member of the group stepped forwards, this one tall and slender, and Jehan wondered if this would be the one to offer him sanctuary. They all hated him so easily when he presented no threat, and he couldn’t understand it; the Souls were so different to the humans, they had no need for the violence that humans were known for. He looked up at the man with hopeful eyes, but the man looked back down at him with nothing but malice in his green eyes. He reached out and struck Jehan across the face with the back of his hand, causing the Soul to recoil backwards onto the ground once again; when he turned around, the man was in his face, “you don’t fool us, parasite.”

_They don’t see me. They can only see you!_

“Come now, Joly.” Bahorel scolded gently and stepped in between the man and the Soul.

“Don’t you ‘come now, Joly’ me!” He shrieked in a high pitched voice. “Are you stupid, Bahorel? Have you been in one too many fights? That thing could bring an entire army down on our heads and where would we be then? We’d all be parasites.”

Bahorel shrugged and turned away from Joly to face Jehan, gently—although his face harboured discontent—he picked him up from the ground and placed him upon his feet. The Soul stumbled slightly, his legs still exhausted, but Bahorel steadied him before pulling something out of his pocket and tying it around Jehan’s eyes (an act that the Soul didn’t understand, and Grantaire was not thinking coherently enough to explain it to him.) He could hear someone—Joly, he thought, although he wasn’t accustomed with him enough to be sure—whisper something about this being unkind, and Jehan felt himself inclined to agree.

++++

Jehan felt the transition from being outside in the blistering heat, to being inside, where the air was still humid but considerably cooler. He could feel the change, but he couldn’t see it due to the blindfold that was tied tightly around his eyes (Grantaire had so kindly calmed down and explained to the Soul that they didn’t want him to know where they were taking him, since he was technically the enemy and if he escaped, he’d be able to lead others there.) When they finally did uncover his eyes, he saw that he was in what looked like a large cave, although he had no real way of telling—he supposed from the impossibly high ceiling that they were inside the mountain, or something along those lines. He forgot about all of that, however, when he noticed that he was surrounded by humans, all of whom were glaring at him in a state of confused anger.

_So many humans,_ Grantaire was awestruck. _Don’t you see? We haven’t lost to your kind at all._

Jehan ignored him and looked around the crowd, noticing that there were more unfamiliar faces. One face did stand out, a face that made Grantaire cry out happily in the forefront of his mind; Enjolras, his long blond hair curling around itself into ringlets that fell past his shoulders, his dark brown eyes wide and unreadable. Jehan’s face split into a wide grin and he took a step towards him, the action fuelled by Grantaire’s desire to be near to the blond man rather than his own accord, “Enjolras!”

Enjolras rushed towards him, and before Jehan could even prepare himself, the blond struck him hard across the face, harder than Joly had done earlier. He fell to the ground and scrambled to save himself before he could get hurt, but he didn’t manage to protect his face fast enough, and he banged his forehead against the ground. Bahorel stepped in as Jehan brought his hand up to feel at his forehead, panicking slightly when he felt something warm and sticky there.“Enough, Enjolras. That’s still Grantaire.”

“Take it to Joly and have done with it.” Enjolras hissed in return. “Grantaire is dead, that thing killed him! It’s hard enough for me and Feuilly to accept that Grantaire’s gone without you bringing this back as a reminder! So take it to Joly and we’ll forget all ab—“

“No!” Jehan turned quickly at the sound of his defence. Feuilly had finally appeared and was rushing over to Jehan, a look of urgency on his freckled face. Crouching down next to him, he pulled the smaller man into a tight hug then glared up at Enjolras, “Don’t you dare even say that, I won’t let you take him to Joly. This is still Grantaire and I won’t let you execute him. We’d both be occupied if it weren’t for him, or have you forgotten that?”

Enjolras looked as if he was going to argue, his face turning an angry shade of red that matched the faded colour of his oversized hoodie, but Bahorel jumped in before he could say anything, “Feuilly, take him down to one of the empty storage cells. He can stay in there until we decide what to do with him.”

“No, I’ll do it.” Enjolras stepped forward and upon noticing the way that Jehan’s head was lolling against Feuilly’s shoulder in a mix of head trauma and dehydration, he looped his arms beneath the dark haired man’s knees and around his shoulders and hoisted him into the air. Enjolras looked thoroughly uncomfortable, but Grantaire was overjoyed. Jehan made sure to remind Grantaire that Enjolras had not only hit him, but also demanded his death; he didn’t see why he was so happy. _You’ll never understand._ Was Grantaire’s only response.

Jehan drifted in and out as Enjolras carried him; he was barely even conscious enough to notice when Enjolras all but threw him down onto his new make shift bed. Too much had happened in too short an amount of time; his body couldn’t handle it and needed to rest to recuperate. When he managed to wake up again, and remain coherent, he noticed that Enjolras was sat out in the passageway that led to the room he was in, a gun in his lap. Jehan stared at him and whispered, “Grantaire?”

A moment, then, _Jehan. They don’t know a human can stay alive in a body. You can’t tell them I’m in here because they won’t believe you; they’ll think you’re lying to save yourself. They’re going to kill us, I’m so sorry Jehan, I shouldn’t have brought us here._

Jehan didn’t reply. He knew that they were going to kill them, but he didn’t blame Grantaire. He had consented their coming as much as Grantaire had demanded it. He stretched out and rolled over, then scrambled up when he saw a metal bowl stationed next to his head, a roll of bread and a metal cup of water within it. He grabbed a hold of it and eat the bread as quickly as he possibly could, then gulped down the water, ignoring the instinct that told him to savour it.

Out in the hallway, he watched as Enjolras pushed himself to his feet and looked around the corner in curiosity. If he strained his ears, Jehan could hear others approaching, but he ignored them in favour of watching Enjolras for Grantaire’ benefit.

“Let us past Enjolras,” Jehan recognised the voice to be Montparnasse, which is when his survival instincts told him to be on edge. “Get out of the way.”

“You can’t keep it prisoner forever.” Courfeyrac added, and Jehan craned in his neck in attempt to see around the corner like Enjolras could; he still couldn’t see the other men, and he didn’t have a clue how many were there but he did know that they were there for him, and he very much doubted that he would get away from them with his life. “If it escapes, which it probably will, it’ll lead the Seekers to us.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Enjolras.” It was Montparnasse again; he stepped forward so that he too was in the mouth of the passageway, close to Enjolras, and Jehan could see the both of them. “But I will if you don’t let us do what’s right. I don’t care what Feuilly says, we need to get rid of it.”

Enjolras didn’t say anything; he just stared at the man in front of him with an angry expression, and then he snapped his fist forward and connected it with Montparnasse’s nose; the man yelped in surprise then collapsed to the ground, cradling his nose in his palms. Jehan gasped in horror and jumped up, ready to rush towards the men and put himself for Enjolras to make sure that he wasn’t hurt. By the time he reached Enjolras, Montparnasse was back on his feet and the two other men that were with him (Courfeyrac and someone Jehan wasn’t familiar with) were advancing on him.

“No! Don’t you hurt him, I’m the one that you want.” Jehan shrieked and pushed himself in front of the blond, but he felt an arm wrap around him and then he was being pulled backwards so that he was out of the way. Enjolras charged at Montparnasse again, his fist colliding with his cheekbone, then again with his left eye. Montparnasse took the hits better than the first, now that he was expecting them, and grabbed Enjolras’ arm so that he couldn’t strike him again. The brunette took the opportunity to reach forward with his other fist and punch Enjolras square on the jaw and tackle him into the corner. Jehan screamed, “Leave him alone!”

“Courfeyrac get it!” Montparnasse yelled over his shoulder. The boy with copper coloured curls rushed forward on command, a little hesitance on his face as he wrapped his hands around Jehan’s throat and pushed him against the wall, cutting off his air passageways. The dark haired soul grabbed onto his arms, trying to pry them away from his throat but he wasn’t strong enough, and his chest started to burn as Grantaire said, _fight him! Keep breathing, don’t let him do this! Fight him Jehan!_

He was just about to swing for Courfeyrac with a limp arm when a gunshot rattled around the tunnel, and then Courfeyrac let go of his neck in surprise and jumped backwards. Jehan fell to the ground and gasped, and Montparnasse and Enjolras broke apart, both looking a little worse for wear. Bahorel was stood at the other end of the tunnel, gun in hand and an annoyed expression on his face, “Evening. I hate to break up this little party but I’d like to remind you that this is my place and that you are all guests here, for the moment so is he, and I don’t take too kindly to my guests strangling each other.”

“It’s got to die!” The third man insisted. “We took a vote; no one wants it here except for you and Feuilly! Even Enjolras hates it and wants it gone.”

“Sadly Bossuet, this isn’t a democracy.” Bahorel smiled sarcastically as he reached down to help Bossuet up. Somewhere along the line, Enjolras had shuffled so that he was stood in front of Jehan, guarding him slightly from Courfeyrac. “It’s a dictatorship. It’s a benign dictatorship but it is one none the less.”

“At least tell us what you plan on doing with it.” Courfeyrac insisted.

“This hasn’t happened before. One of our own coming back. For right now, I’m doing nothing about it because I don't know what to do.” Said Bahorel, a look of longing on his face as his pale blue eyes met Jehan’s silver. He coughed and shook his head, “This tunnels off limits to everyone except for me, if I see anyone else back here I’m gonna ask questions second. I trust you can spread the word around everybody else.” Courfeyrac, Bossuet and Montparnasse left one by one, each looking a little reluctant until it was only Jehan, Enjolras and Bahorel left behind in the tunnel. The muscular man looked to the blond and nodded, “I’ll take the next watch. Go get something to eat.”

Enjolras nodded and started to walk away, pausing only to say, “Keep it away from Feuilly.”

And then he was gone and it was just Bahorel and Jehan, and the Soul couldn’t get rid of the feeling of unease that was running through his system no matter how much Grantaire told him that it was only Bahorel and he had nothing to worry about. Jehan turned away from the man and walked back into his cell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you let me know your opinion on this in the comments I'll give you cookies :)
> 
>  
> 
> Again, mostly based on the movie The Host


	3. Truths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jehan.” Feuilly began, swiftly changing the topic. He twisted his body so that he was facing the Soul. “I heard what Bahorel was saying. He thinks that R might still be alive, inside there with you I mean. Can that happen? Does it, Jehan?” He paused for a moment, giving Jehan the chance to answer but the Soul just stared at him with wide eyes. “Why won’t you answer me? Is Grantaire still alive? Jehan, please.” His voice broke with tears that he was trying to hold back as he begged for answers. “I have to know, he’s the closest thing I ever had to a real family, I need to know if he’s still alive.”

“Do you know who I am?” Jehan had been inspecting his nails when the voice startled him (there wasn’t much else to do in an empty cave, boredom crept up on him after a day in captivity, and Grantaire was just as bored as so was providing poor entertainment). He looked up, a little fear in his shimmering eyes, but relaxed when he saw that it was Feuilly. Feuilly seemed to be the most accepting of him, but that was only based on their one interaction, where the ginger teenager had jumped to his defence.

Jehan smiled and nodded slightly, “you are Feuilly.”

“But you’re not Grantaire.” Feuilly’s voice took on a darker, more emotional tone, as if he were trying not to cry when he brought up Grantaire. He observed Jehan intently, cocking his head to the side and observing every corner of his face, lingering a moment extra on the silver eyes. He shivered slightly, involuntarily, when he looked at them for too long, accustomed to bright blue rather than piercing silver. Jehan could only image how difficult it was for the slightly younger boy to look at the body that had once belonged to his best friend knowing that it was no longer the man he had known. “I want to know what happened to my best friend that night. He said he was going to come back but I never saw him again.”

_If he can’t know I’m alive, he deserves to know what happened to me_. Grantaire whispered, his tone mirroring Feuilly’s. _Please, Jehan. It’s Feuilly, he deserves to know. He might be younger but he can handle it._

“To protect you, Bahorel and Enjolras he tried to take his life. He jumped through a window of the hotel you were hiding in. Our healers mended his wounds and put me in him, hoping that I could find out if there were other human survivors.” Jehan explained, reliving that night in his mind. He could feel the sting of glass tearing Grantaire’s skin, the pain of falling and colliding with the ground. “When I failed to give them the information they needed, they planned to put another Soul into Grantaire’s body that would be more willing to cooperate.”

Feuilly took a deep breath and nodded, and Jehan had to resist Grantaire’s urge to rush across the room and pull him into a tight, reassuring hug. Feuilly may have been talking to him, but that didn’t mean that he liked Jehan at all. “Do you have a name? It doesn’t feel right calling you Grantaire, I’m sorry, and I really hate that everyone’s calling you it.”

Apart from Bahorel in those first few minutes when he was discovered, no one had ever called him Grantaire—at least not to the best of his knowledge. He disliked the thought that he was being called Grantaire, because he and Grantaire were so different, “My name is Jehan.”

“Where do you come from?”

Jehan considered his answer for a moment; he had been to many planets and had lived many lives upon them, but he supposed that Feuilly wanted to know about the Origin. He decided to answer simply, because he wasn’t sure how the human would react to discovering just how much life was out there in the universe, “Another planet. One far—“

“What the hell?!” Enjolras burst into the room, causing both Feuilly and Jehan to jump, the latter letting out a quiet whimper of surprise. Courfeyrac was close behind him, and the blond grabbed Feuilly roughly by the arm. He spared a sharp glare towards Jehan, then turned his full attention towards the sixteen year old, “I told you to stay away from it. It isn’t going to do us any good to be around it, how do you expect to get over Grantaire if you keep staring at his face? It’ll trick you into thinking its Grantaire because it stole all his memories but you can’t let it fool you, Feuilly. That is not Grantaire, he’s never coming back.”

“It’s still his body you’re hurting.” Feuilly hissed and turned on his heel, marching away from Jehan’s cell as quickly as he possibly could.

Enjolras sighed and watched him go with a defeated expression, clearly torn between chasing after him and staying to keep watch. The selfish part of Jehan wished that he’d stay so that he wasn’t left alone with Courfeyrac. The blond turned around to address the other human, “I don’t trust it. It could be another Seeker for all we know.”

“He—I mean it, is the furthest thing from a Seeker I’ve ever seen.” Courfeyrac countered as they moved out into the hallway and took up their position on the floor as watchmen. “The way it jumped between you and Montparnasse the other day—they don’t do that, there’s something different about this one.”

Enjolras snarled, and Jehan wondered for a moment if he was going to lash out and hit Courfeyrac.  _Enjolras wouldn’t do that._ Grantaire argued, but Jehan believed that the evidence spoke for itself; in his short time with the humans Jehan himself had been hit by Enjolras (resulting in a painful cut above his eyebrow) and he had seen the man fight with Montparnasse, giving the man a bloodied nose. “It was trying to find a way to stay alive, that’s all.”

“What,” Courfeyrac snorted, a pleasant laugh filling his voice, “by giving Montparnasse the go ahead to kill it? That’s a great plan, Enjolras. It wouldn’t have even fought back against him and you know it. It protected you.”

“What the hell has gotten into everybody?” Enjolras yelled in a hushed tone, clearly trying to reign in his temper yet failing miserably. Jehan could see him glaring angrily towards Courfeyrac, occasionally flicking his gaze to glare at Jehan instead, “It is the enemy and don’t you forget it. I lost Grantaire thanks to it, it deserves to be dead..”

Courfeyrac looked half disgusted and half angry, “you don’t feel bad at all, do you? I half killed it and it barely even fought back.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Enjolras erupted. “It’s not human.”

Courfeyrac shook his head and sighed, “what? So it’s okay for us to stop acting human? You know what, Enjolras, I expected more from you.”

The man stormed past him, bumping their shoulders as he walked up the tunnel after Feuilly. As he had done earlier, Enjolras watched his friend go but this time with a look of disbelief on his face, almost as if he couldn’t believe that Courfeyrac had actually taken Jehan’s side over his (to be fair, Jehan himself was having a little trouble believing that too).

++++

A couple of days passed, and Jehan didn’t really do anything. He and Grantaire talked sometimes, but Jehan had to practice extra caution when doing so in case someone overheard him and thought he was conversing with other Souls. He was always watched; mostly by Bahorel or Enjolras, occasionally by Courfeyrac but never for long, and Feuilly never came back to talk to him again. He was getting bored, even though he had spent the majority of his time alone before he and Grantaire escaped, because there was nothing to do here. He couldn’t read or write poetry or draw, if he was to let Grantaire have some say in their recreational activities.

He was bored, which meant that Grantaire was bored, which meant that Grantaire got annoying. He was ecstatic when Bahorel turned up for watch duty one day and, instead of sitting down, indicated for Jehan to follow him, a smile on his face. Jehan scrambled after him in fear of being left in the cave all alone without anyone to watch out for Montparnasse.

“I found this place by accident, really it found me but it’s really something, isn’t it?” Bahorel told the Soul as they walked through the twisting tunnels that made up the home that the humans lived in. “I fell through the roof, a long time ago, way back before your guys came to Earth, almost died trying to find a way out.” Jehan looked at the high stone walls as they walked, noticing Courfeyrac along the way, and a copper skinned girl with long black hair who glared at him as he walked past.

When he noticed that Jehan was lagging behind, Bahorel whistled at him and indicated for him to keep up, “there’s only one way out and no one’s found it on their own since I found it. Kept the place to myself, more out of selfishness than anything else, but when we had to start hiding, I knew I’d end up out here at some point and I’d have to share it with anyone that I could. Good thing too, without it we’re all dead.”

They walked through to another section of the caves, where water coursed through and bubbled viciously. Bahorel stopped just short of the water’s edge and said, “it’s actually an extinct volcano. Well, not quite extinct but it’s never going to do anything ever again. Watch yourself on the lake bit there, if you fall in you’re never coming back. We wash through there where the waters still,” He indicated to a small room off to the side, “you can go ahead and take a wash now, if you’d like. You sure look like you could use it. I’ll be right out here waiting for you, with some clean clothes too.”

Jehan grinned and nodded, then moved towards the wash room. He peeled his old clothes off and stepped into the water without hesitation; it had been days since he’d last showered, and his hair was horribly greasy (he was sure that he was getting stinky too, which was probably why Bahorel decided to get him to wash.) The water was pretty nice, not too warm and not to cold, which surprised Jehan because it was just a load of water in a hole in the middle of a volcano. He scrubbed himself clean using the soap that had been left behind by whoever had used the bath last and took a little extra time washing his dark curls. When he finally felt clean, he climbed out and dried himself off on the towel that Bahorel had thrown through and dressed in the new clothes; they were a little too big for him so he had to roll the sleeves and the trouser legs up because his Host’s body was so short, but they were clean and didn’t have holes in and that was all he could ever ask for.

“Makes you feel like a human being again, doesn’t it?” Bahorel smiled, but then his face dropped when Jehan just stared at him. “Sorry, bad joke?”

Jehan’s lips tugged up slightly in the corners to show the man that he hadn’t taken it personally, so Bahorel indicated that they should continue with their tour. “Enjolras and Montparnasse have gone out for supplies so you won’t be seeing either of them for about a week but when they get back at least we’ll have something good to eat. Now come on, I know you’ve seen a lot, but you’ve never seen anything like this.”

He grabbed Jehan’s wrist and pulled him through an archway, leading them into what was possibly the largest section of the volcano. The ground, much to Jehan’s surprise was covered in tall strands of wheat, most of which came up well past his waist; the room was covered in them, and yet it made no sense to him. How could all of these plants grow inside without any sunlight? He turned to Bahorel, “Never, but how is all of this even possible?”

“Same way as the magicians do it,” he shrugged and pointed up to the ceiling. “With mirrors.”

Jehan looked up and true to the man’s word, the ceiling was covered in hundreds of mirrors, all of which reflected light off of each other, casting light around the room. He had no idea how the man had done it, or how it even worked, but he was amazed.

_And they all said Bahorel was crazy_. Grantaire commented, his voice layered with admiration. _How many crazy people do you see pulling off something like this? This is a masterpiece._

“The others think you’re gonna betray us to the Seekers,” Bahorel said off handily as they walked through the field of wheat, and Jehan felt himself stiffen slightly. So Bahorel had been nice to him all day just so that he could interrogate him. Jehan carried on walking just a little bit in front of the brown haired man so that he couldn’t see his face. “Makes sense if you think about it. I mean, why else would you be here? The only thing I can’t wrap my head around is, what kind of a plan was that? You just walked right into the middle of nowhere with no back up, no water, no way to get yourself back. So if, like you say, you weren’t coming here for the Seekers, what were you doing?”

Jehan remained silent, so Bahorel continued, “But then I got to thinking, when they put one of you in our heads, do we still exist, just trapped in there? If our memories are still alive, are we? I believe some people wouldn’t go down without a fight, hell I know I wouldn’t go down quietly and I’ve never seen fight like there was in Grantaire but what he’d fight for more than anything was the people that he loved; Enjolras, Feuilly, me.”

Jehan stopped and slowly turned around so that he was facing Bahorel, looking up at him with wide eyes as he continued to speak, “I wonder if a love like that might play on someone’s mind and heart, that it might just get them to do something that they wouldn’t ordinarily do. Maybe you’re here because you do actually care about us. You, Jehan.”

Jehan smiled, tight lipped and wavering and spun back around so that he could whisper to Grantaire, “he sees everything. He’s not crazy at all, he’s a genius.”

_I think he’s both, dearest Jehan._

“Yeah, I wonder.” The man in question mumbled, causing Jehan to turn back around to face him. “A lot, about a lot of things but I’m not the only one, right Feuilly? Care to join us?”

Jehan looked over to where Bahorel was looking, and sure enough Feuilly stood up amongst the wheat, having been crouched down in them so that he could listen to their conversation. He looked sheepish at having been caught, but Bahorel merely grinned at him and shook his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by the sound of helicopters flying above; panic washed over his face and he screamed, “mirrors! Mirrors!”

He ran off to the side of the room, along with everyone else who was in the field and began to turn one of six large wheels that were attached to pulley systems. The more they pulled them, the more the mirrors turned so that they were hidden from the light; Jehan ran forwards and grabbed the same wheel that Feuilly was turning, helping him to get them closed in time. Feuilly looked up at him and said, “thank you, Jehan.”

“Feuilly,” Bahorel called over from one of the other wheels. “Why don’t you take over guard duty for a while?”

The ginger boy grinned and nodded, then indicated for Jehan to follow him out of the fields and into a separate room. As they walked he said, “I was starting to miss the outdoors and I was thinking maybe you miss it a little bit too, so close your eyes and give me your hand.”

_Where is he taking us?_ Grantaire inquired as Jehan did as he was told, closing his eyes tightly and holding his hand out for the other to take; Feuilly slid their fingers together and began tugging Jehan in the same direction as they had been headed before, occasionally warning the Soul if they were about to go in a different direction or up a slope. When they arrived to wherever it was that they were going, Feuilly instructed him to sit down.

“You can open your eyes now, you know? Just be real quiet.” Feuilly chuckled in a hushed tone.

Jehan opened his eyes and then gasped under his breath at the sight before his eyes; hundreds of stars lit up the sky, and yet Jehan couldn’t even tell that they were outside. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, “What stars are these? I have never seen this constellation before.”

“They’re not stars, they’re glow worms. You have to be quiet or they get scared and stop glowing.” Feuilly whispered, amusement in his voice. He raised his hands and clapped loudly, causing the once bright ceiling to go dull and brown. Jehan was mesmerised. “When I miss the sky, this is where I come.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“Jehan.” Feuilly began, swiftly changing the topic. He twisted his body so that he was facing the Soul. “I heard what Bahorel was saying. He thinks that R might still be alive, inside there with you I mean. Can that happen? Does it, Jehan?” He paused for a moment, giving Jehan the chance to answer but the Soul just stared at him with wide eyes. “Why won’t you answer me? Is Grantaire still alive? Jehan, please.” His voice broke with tears that he was trying to hold back as he begged for answers. “I have to know, he’s the closest thing I ever had to a real family, I need to know if he’s still alive.”

_Forget what I said. Tell him._ Grantaire urged. _That kid has been through too much in his life, just give him something to believe in._

Grantaire had never revealed much about Feuilly until they reached the caves. When they were in captivity, Grantaire broke their boredom by telling him stories about Bahorel, Enjolras and Feuilly. One of these stories was a recollection of how he and Feuilly actually met; Feuilly was an orphan, brought to France by his parents from Poland, where they promptly abandoned him. He’d bounced around different foster homes until he finally landed in one that just so happened to be next door to where Grantaire lived with his parents. After a while, Grantaire started to notice that the little boy next door was a little too thin, and a little too dirty to be healthy.

Feuilly had only been nine at that point, Grantaire fourteen, but he started to befriend the younger ginger boy. After a while, Feuilly had revealed that his foster parents didn’t really like him all that much, and couldn’t afford to look after him. Grantaire started letting the boy come to his house to eat with his family, occasionally to sleep in a proper bed for a night, and when Grantaire had moved out when he was eighteen, Feuilly thirteen, he had taken the boy with him. All it took was a threat to report them to social services for the boy’s adopted parents to agree to let him go. Feuilly had his own room, with his own bed and a room all to himself for the first time in his entire life. They were a family, just the two of them.

“Grantaire swore to you that night that he was going to come back,” Jehan whispered, staring at Feuilly intently. The ginger teen nodded slightly and wiped beneath his eyes. “Has he ever broken a promise to you in his entire life?”

Feuilly hesitated for a moment, his green eyes widening slightly before he gasped and allowed the corners of his lips to turn up into a smile; he threw his arms around Jehan’s shoulders without a moment’s hesitation, and Jehan reciprocated the gesture as the boy whispered, “I love you, Grantaire.”

“He loves you too, and he’s so happy you’re safe.”

Feuilly pulled away abruptly, a worried look on his face, “is everyone like that? Does everybody stay?”

“No,” Jehan shook his head, and the worry melted away from Feuilly’s features. Jehan did not add that difficult Hosts such as Grantaire were usually destroyed. “Not like Grantaire. He’s special; he’s very strong and he wanted to keep his promise to you.”

“He couldn’t have kept his promise, if you didn’t help him keep it,” Feuilly whispered, then leaned forward to hug the Soul once again. “Thank you so much, Jehan. And I promise you this, no matter what, I won’t let anybody hurt you. Grantaire looked after me when I couldn’t do it for myself, so now I’ll protect you two.”

“It’ll just be our secret, okay?”

++++

Jehan got put to work in the field a few days later, harvesting the wheat with Feuilly and half a dozen other people. When he walked through the door, everyone stopped working and stared at him, most noticeably Courfeyrac. He didn’t know most of the people in the field, but they sure knew him; a petite blonde woman glared at him as she handed out water, purposefully walking close to him yet neglecting to give him a bottle. A tall freckled man followed her, a hand on the small of her back as he leaned down to whisper in her ear, casting Jehan a cautious look as he guided her away. They didn’t trust him yet, and it probably didn’t help that he had a sharp knife in his hand while he worked.

Courfeyrac stayed close to him, for some reason unknown to the Soul; he was not particularly fond of Courfeyrac, which he felt was perfectly understandable since the man had tried to strangle him. He kept an eye on Courfeyrac as he worked, scared that he was going to be attacked at any given minute, even though the expression on Courfeyrac’s face was more curious than aggressive. Grantaire was getting increasingly annoyed at the boy with the tight, messy copper curls, occasionally sneering, _why is he staring at you?_

When Courfeyrac handed him his own bottle of water and smiled in indication that he should take it, Grantaire got even more annoyed, _don’t you forget, he tried to kill you. Don’t start trusting him now._ When Jehan took the bottle, his Host gasped and yelled, _did you just not hear me? He tried to **kill** you! Don’t you dare smile at him, Jehan._

The helicopters came back while they were working in the fields, and they all scrambled off to turns the wheels as they had done the day before. It wasn’t until after when they were stood in the darkness that anyone noticed that Feuilly’s leg was bleeding. Grantaire worried, which made Jehan worry, but Bahorel just patted him on the shoulder and told him to go and see Joly. The fact that they had a doctor calmed Grantaire’s nerves at least a little; if no one else was worried, then neither was Grantaire. Feuilly was fine, and bounced into the dinner hall with a smile on his face and only a slight limp. He grabbed Jehan’s hand as he walked past him and pulled him down at one of the tables, where Bahorel, Courfeyrac and three other people were sat. (Feuilly introduced them as Cosette, the same woman who had handed out water and now apologised for ignoring him, Marius and Combeferre.)

“I always liked science fiction movies,” Bahorel mused as they sat around eating lukewarm soup and bread rolls. Cosette cast him an incredulous look, but Bahorel sighed and shook his head, taking on a more serious tone than he had done previously, “never dreamed we’d actually be living in one. Heck, ten years ago we didn’t even think that there was life out there, but I guess we were wrong about that one. How many planets out there have life?”

Everyone in the room, who had been silent since Jehan entered the room, stopped eating and looked towards their table, causing the Soul to flush a hideous shade of red. He cleared his throat and looked down towards the table, “twelve that we know of. Four I have never been to and we have just discovered a new world.”

“You’ve conquered twelve planets?” The freckled man—Marius—asked, his face a mixture of disbelief and horror. The blonde next to him (his wife, so Jehan was told) pinched him on the back of the arm and smiled apologetically at the Soul. Marius shot him the same apologetic grimace so Jehan smiled back at him.

“That’s not how we see it,” Jehan explained, although the part of his mind that was dominated by Grantaire scoffed and said of course it wasn’t. Jehan liked to ignore Grantaire when he got like that (which wasn’t often anymore, not like when Jehan was first implanted in his body). “We have always lived by bonding with another species, it is how we survive, we try to live in harmony.”

A quiet hum of consideration went around the table; the Souls did not quite live in harmony with humanity, because the human body was so much more complex than any of the other Hosts that had occupied in the past. Jehan didn’t think the members of his table would quite understand if he tried to explain that to them. Combeferre was the one to eventually break the nostalgic silence by saying, “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Jehan, but how old are you? You said that you’d been to eight planets, which implies that you have quite a few years behind you. Not to be rude.”

“Over a thousand of your years.” Jehan smiled at the shocked faces, then continued. “I have not completed one full revolution of your sun, yet I have found that Earth is more beautiful and harder than any plane I have ever been before. It--”

A loud clatter of something being thrown to the ground made Jehan jump and turn around in his seat, his heartbeat increased slightly. He saw Enjolras storming through the door, his blond hair trailing behind him and a look of pure hatred on his hard face; close behind him, Montparnasse was following, watching the blond closely rather than glaring at Jehan. Enjolras stopped at the head of their table and glared at each member in turn before yelling, “what is this?! This has gone on long enough!”

Enjolras turned around and grabbed his rifle from where he had thrown in upon entering the room, before turning back around and raising it towards Jehan. Bahorel jumped up and grabbed the nuzzle, fighting with the brown eyed man to direct it towards the ground, rather than at the Soul; Courfeyrac too stood, and placed himself in front of Jehan, who was trembling in his seat. Courfeyrac spotted this and turned his anger towards Enjolras, “he is not a threat!”

“Out of the way, Bahorel!” Enjolras screamed. “I’m gonna end this once and for all.”

_Enjolras,_ Grantaire mourned.

“Enjolras, no, you can’t!” Feuilly yelled, his voice stern and full of an authority that surprised both Jehan and Grantaire. Be gulped and looked towards Jehan, who shook his head slightly, but Feuilly ignored him and said, “if you kill Jehan, then you’ll kill Grantaire too. He’s still alive in there.”

“I believe it,” said Bahorel. “Now let go of the gun.”

“You’re all letting it fool you,” Enjolras whispered, his tone full of devastation as his brown eyes flicked around the room, falling upon each member in turn. He looked towards Jehan, and a flicker of pain crossed his face—that one flicker of pain, that was gone so quickly, made Grantaire whimper within his head, and Jehan could feel that pain in his heart. Enjolras released the gun and began to walk away, calling over his shoulder, “Feuilly, come on.”

Slowly those who had been in the cafeteria began to walk away; even Feuilly, who allowed Combeferre to wrap an arm around his shoulder and lead him away. Courfeyrac and Bahorel were the only ones to stay, making Jehan feel horribly guilty; he had driven these people out of their own living space when he should be the one to leave, “I’ll go back to my cell, I’m so sorry. I didn’t intend to cause all of this trouble.”

“No, Jehan.” Bahorel shook his head and unloaded the rifle before looking up and smiling slightly, “this’ll blow over, don’t you worry.”

“You can stay with me,” Courfeyrac offered, although it sounded more like a command than a question. Grantaire was not so fond of the idea (he still referred to Courfeyrac as ‘the killer’ and was not so quick to forgive him.) The brunette looked to Bahorel and said, “he’ll be safe there, I’ll make sure of it.”

Bahorel sighed and nodded, then headed in the direction that Enjolras had gone in. Alone with Courfeyrac, Jehan wrapped his arms around his torso and looked awkwardly at the man beside him, “you tried to kill me and now you’re protecting me?”

“Strange world, isn’t it?” Courfeyrac smirked (a trait that irritated Grantaire, and confused Jehan.)

The Soul sighed and shook his head, then began following Courfeyrac as they headed towards the man’s cell, “the strangest.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jellybeans if you give kudos, cake if you comment! Treats for everybody! :)
> 
> In the movie theres this bit where two of the guys who go out on the raid die but I didn't want to kill anyone off so I cut it out!
> 
> Let me know what you think guys! :)

**Author's Note:**

> It's based off of the movie The Host (I think that's based on a book but I can't remember and I didn't bother looking it up oops). Most of the dialogue is the same so far except Jehan cares about Grantaire a little more than the one in the movie did.
> 
> Everything in Italics is what Grantaire says, but Jehan is the only one who can hear him because he's like the internal dialogue.
> 
> I wrote this from midnight to 4am last night and I thought it was pretty good then but now looking back on it I'm not so sure? Tell me what you think please!
> 
> Feedback is the best :)


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